


Robots and the Men Who Love Them

by JaneTurenne



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Crack, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneTurenne/pseuds/JaneTurenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An inevitable crossover--silly, fluffy, slashy, robot-lovin', timey-wimey crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robots and the Men Who Love Them

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to rabidsamfan

"Oh, I don't think _that's_ a very fine distinction," snorts Holmes, resisting the urge to gape out the TARDIS's open door at the cosmos whizzing past. Even waking up in the twenty-second century was nowhere near as bewildering and wonderful as _this_ , but he refuses to admit that to the man who has just insulted his Watson. "As I understand it, the line between 'android' and 'robot' is highly fluid, to say the least."

"Hardly in this case, Mr. Holmes," sniffs the Doctor. "There is a vast difference between an artificial body playing host to a living consciousness, and the illusion of life created by the implantation of real memories in an entirely mechanical being. Not even a very _good_ illusion of life, is it? All that exposed metal. Rather gauche, if you ask me."

The detective's eyes narrow. "As it happens, I had no say in that; Watson was given to me. I didn't build him for myself." He flecks an imaginary mote of dust from his cuff. "I'm very glad to have him, of course, but it would have smacked just a _bit_ too nearly of obsession to devote such endless hours of time and effort to _constructing_ my own long-lost lover. Though it would admittedly have made far better sense than devoting that same effort to reviving a man who had spent most of his life trying to kill me, wouldn't you say?"

"That's lives. Plural," the Doctor says, through gritted teeth. "And I'll have you know, Mr. Sherlock Holmes..."

From the other side of the console room, the Master addresses his metal companion. "They do play so fondly together, don't they?"

"It's a pleasure to watch, really," agrees Watson, glancing affectionately down at the two men now locked in what seems likely to be a mortal struggle in defense of their respective robotic lovers. "Mind the door, gentlemen, we'd not want you falling out into the vortex," he calls, and then turns back to the mechanical Time Lord beside him. "More tea, Mister Master?"

"Why not?" asks the Master amiably. "Such a charming monocle, Dr. Watson. Wherever did you come by it?"

"How kind of you to say, sir. There's a little boutique in New London--are you well acquainted with New London?"

"Passably. I _may_ have come within a hairsbreadth of conquering it once." The Master gives Watson a conspiratorial wink.

"You old rogue," chuckles Watson.

"Oh, not _so_ old," says the Master, sliding his hand along the metallic plating of Watson's arm. "True, my consciousness just turned one thousand and fourteen," he leans in to whisper in the suddenly blushing doctor's ear, "but my Doctor installed a new set of rotors just the other day that have me feeling half my age, in more ways than one. I don't suppose you'd care to..."

The extremely conspicuous clearing of not one but two organic throats causes four electronic eyes to turn abruptly upwards. Watson's face is red as a strawberry; the Master's expression is nothing short of smug.

"What..." growls the Doctor.

"...precisely..." continues Holmes.

"...do you think..."

"...you are up to?"

The Master's smirk widens. "Well, Doctor, since you haven't seen fit to let me leave the TARDIS, I have to make the best of the opportunities that come to me. And it's not often I get the chance to flirt with a man...well, a man-shaped being, anyhow...who boasted of being the scourge of three continents and many separate nations _before_ he acquired supra-organic stamina, is it? Not to _mention_ that moustache..."

Watson groans, and cuts Holmes off before he can even speak. "I never used the word 'scourge,' Holmes, and aren't three hundred years' worth of apologies for that passage enough for you?"

"You're coming with me." Holmes and the Doctor both look up in surprise at their unintended unison, hands on their respective partners' arms.

"Keep your robot away from my android."

"Keep your android away from my robot."

"Holmes, _really_ , you needn't be so dictatorial about it. It isn't as though I was actually going to..."

" _Yours_ , am I, Doctor? I seem to recall you wording it rather oppositely last night, while I was..."

All four pairs of lips in the console room are suddenly occupied with business more pressing than speech. The TARDIS, feeling decidedly left out, lands herself in a certain New London flat with a sulky thump that jostles both couples from their embraces.

The Doctor, his mood suddenly much more genial, turns to Holmes and Watson without bothering to remove his arm from the Master's waist. "It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."

"As always, Doctor," replies Holmes, with an answering smile. "Next time I shall have to ask you to explain that...what did you call it...that 'sonic screwdriver' of yours. Just _think_ how easy the Milverton business would have been if we'd had one of _those_ , Watson!"

"Ah, I'm _afraid_ that'd be a bit too anachronistic, even in this century," says the Doctor apologetically. "This technology won't technically be around for..."

"He just doesn't want to admit it's already outdated," the Master stage-whispers to their audience. "I'm building something much better. _Laser_." He gives Watson his most salacious smirk. "Come back to the lab one of these days, Doctor Watson, and I'll give you a...special viewing. Some of the settings are quite..."

"Haven't you already caused enough trouble today?" the Doctor mutters, shoving the Master further into the TARDIS and offering Watson a conciliatory handshake.

"Are you breathing? Because if so, the answer to that question is clearly no," the Master offers, twisting out of the Doctor's grasp, spinning behind him and emerging around the other side to shake Holmes and Watson's hands.

'You're occasionally quite fond of my breathing. When I'm doing it directly down your neck, for example."

"A little less of you breathing down my neck, Doctor, and I'd be ruling the universe by now."

"All the more reason for me to make respiration a priority."

Holmes clears his throat. "The usual time next week then, gentlemen?"

The Doctor and Master turn back to their guests. "With pleasure, my dear sirs," the Doctor says with a smile. "Here's wishing you an abundance of fascinating mysteries."

"And as many daring escapades to you," replies Watson with a little bow.

The blue door swings shut, the white light blinks its warning, and an unmistakable grinding sound fills the New London flat as two pairs of adventurers go their separate ways.


End file.
